Josh closed his eyes and shook his head. Holding up his glass he asked, "Do you mind?"
"Help yourself," Bellofatto said, nodding toward the bar.
Josh walked to the bar, opened the freezer door, and took out the Vodka bottle. As he poured the drink, he noticed the label bearing Cyrillic lettering. "What kind of vodka is this?" he asked. "It's excellent," examining the bottle.
"It's made by the producer of Russian Standard Vodka, but you can't get it in this country. It's a private reserve label only available to certain people. I have many friends, Josh," Bellofatto said, watching Josh's reaction.
Josh sat back down and sipped the vodka, "So, how did you get it?"
Bellofatto smiled. "As I told you once, you have your ways and we have ours. Would you excuse me a moment?" putting his drink on the table.
Josh waited, sipping his drink, looking at the water. Bellofatto came back after a few minutes, reclaimed his drink, and returned to his seat.
The two sat in silence for several moments, enjoying the drinks and admiring the view. Josh stood up, placed his glass on the bar, and turned to look at Bellofatto.
"Thanks for the drink, Gino," Josh said. "I have one more question."
Bellofatto's expression didn't change.
"Do you know anything about planes?"
Bellofatto locked his eyes on Josh. "I know this. People who threaten to hurt our friends should not fly in them," holding Josh's stare as he sipped his drink.
"And Maurio Bartoletti, what might he know about them?"
The name caused a small reaction in Bellofatto; his eyes grew a bit wider. Nevertheless, he regained control. "Maurio, yes, he is a good man. Loyal, sympathetic, and discrete.” Bellofatto's eyes now displayed a more intense level of concern. "I am sure he has no knowledge of such things. Why do you ask?"
"Idle curiosity," Josh smiled, and turned towards the door.
"Does the FBI share this, how'd you say, idle curiosity?" Bellofatto asked, rolling the drink around in his glass.
Josh shook his head, "I doubt it. We've all moved on," watching as Bellofatto drained the glass.
As he walked from the deck, he stopped for a moment. Images swirled through his mind, morphing into one. Remembering now what he could not before, it all fit together. Josh looked at Bellofatto. "I saw his picture." Josh wasn't certain, but he tried to bluff
Bellofatto narrowed his eyes, "You saw whose picture?"
"Where's your bodyguard?" Josh asked. "Not back from Virginia yet?"
Bellofatto faced betrayed no emotion. "He is around, when I need him."
Josh studied Bellofatto for a moment; looking for some emotional reaction to what he set in motion. There was none. Josh walked out of the house, got into his car, and drove off. He followed the winding driveway past the security gate and onto the road. Stopping at the intersection with Pawtucket Avenue, he heard a text message come through. The message, from a blocked caller ID, read, "No more visits, my friend. Problem solved. Look under your seat."
Reaching under the seat, Josh felt a box. He pulled it out and threw it on the passenger seat. Stopping at the next red light, he opened the box and pulled out a bottle of the Russian Vodka. Guy is a real piece of work.
Chapter 46
November 14, 2009
Gate of Heaven Cemetery
East Providence, Rhode Island
"The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards Justice."
Dr. Martin Luther King
The group arrived at the cemetery. Chris Hamlin, Maggie Fleming, Vera Johnson, Loren Grey, Keira Williams, and Josh walked from their cars to the small grave on the hill. They met Chief Brennan, Zach Kennedy, the two troopers, Candace Ferguson, and Harrison 'Hawk' Bennett.
Located on the Wampanoag Trail in East Providence, Gate of Heaven cemetery is a quiet, peaceful setting not far from the Massachusetts border. Thousands of cars pass by each day. Few pay much attention to those buried there, lives lost in the past.
Josh took the small wooden box, bearing the insignia of the 1st Cavalry Division, and handed it to Loren.
She took the box, hugged it to her chest, and then placed it in the open grave. The workers lowered it gently down.
The East Providence Police Color Guard came to attention. They carried three flags, the flag of the United States, the State flag of Rhode Island, and the Division Colors of the 1st Air Cavalry. The family of Gordon 'Ray' Reynolds, a deceased member of the East Providence Police and fellow Vietnam veteran, provided the flag.
Distant commands broke the silence; a trio of rifleman fired three volleys.
As the echoing report of the rifles faded, the mournful sounds of taps rose from the bugler of American Legion Post 10. Under the tearful eyes of those who loved him, one more veteran laid to rest.
As the last of the notes drifted away, the group began the slow walk back to their cars.
"So I hear you enjoy Russian Vodka," Hawk said, coming up alongside Josh.
"How would you know that?" Josh asked, taken aback by the statement.
"Fatso and I go way back. I represented a few of his crew in the 80s and 90s. We've remained in touch," Hawk said, staring at Josh.
Josh looked into his eyes; he could not tell if it was relief or regret he saw. "Something you're trying to tell me?" Josh asked.
Hawk shook his head. "Some things are best left alone, my boy. Leave it be."
"There isn't much for me to do is there?" Josh said. "Not my jurisdiction."
"Do you know what happened on this date, Josh?" Hawk asked.
Josh looked at him for a moment, "No, what?"
"Ia Drang," Hawk replied, looking Josh in the eye. "The battle in the Ia Drang Valley in South Vietnam started on November 14, 1965, forty-four years ago today. It's splendid timing to lay one of the participants of that battle to rest if you ask me." Hawk patted Josh on the shoulder, linked his hands behind his back, and walked away.
Josh broke from the group, went over to another marker, and stopped. Remembering what he could never forget.
Loren Grey came over and stood next to him. She read the words on the gravestone,
Staff Sergeant Anthony 'JoJo' Machado
United States Marine Corps
June 6, 1983 to March 15, 2006
Semper Fi
"Was he a friend of yours?" Loren asked.
Josh turned to her, a sad smile on his face, eyes brimming with tears, voice quivering. "No, but I wish he had been."
Keira came over, took Josh by the hand, and walked with him back to their car.
"You did a good thing here, Josh," putting her arm around him as he fought back the tears, "a good thing."
Regaining his composure, he said, "A little late though…"
"Finding the truth is what is important. You did that for her. That's all anyone could ever expect, the truth."
Josh turned to look at the graves one last time, watching the sun setting behind the small rise in the cemetery. Truth? He wondered if there was any such thing.
Epilogue
“Dr. Howard, can I speak with you a moment?” the assistant Fairfax County Medical examiner, Dr. Samuels, said.
“Of course, what is it?” Dr. Howard replied. Howard had been the Chief Medical Examiner for almost 30 years. He wanted to retire, but three ex-wives made that impossible.
“There is a problem with the tissue samples from the aircraft accident.”
“What do you mean a problem?” the ME asked.
“I decided to re-run the DNA analysis using our new thermo-cycler. When I ran the samples recovered from the aircraft against the known exemplars, I found an error.” He handed the ME a report.
Reviewing the document, the ME could feel his heart rate rising. Calming himself, he tried to smile. “Ah, I see your point. Perhaps it is just your unfamiliarity with the new equipment. I will redo the analysis myself. Verify my original results. I am sure it was a harmless error.”
“Doctor,” Samuels, said, “I have bee
n doing DNA analysis for over twenty years. I came here from the FBI lab where we used these devices all the time. It is no error. The DNA from the aircraft for one of the subjects is not a match for the exemplar. We need to notify the police.”
Howard saw it all fading away. He was losing his chance to get out. Nobody was going to stand in his way.
“Dr. Samuels, I will call the FBI and tell them of your findings. Would you be so kind as to gather all the samples and prepare them for transfer to another lab? I would assume the FBI will conduct an independent analysis.”
Samuels left the office and went to the lab. Howard reached into his brief case, took out a cell phone, and dialed a number.
“Da?”
“We have a problem.”
* * *
One month later
December 17, 2009
3:00 PM
SIU Office
East Providence Police Department
Josh sat at his desk, the events of the last few months no longer part of his daily thoughts, his phone rang. Using the speakerphone, he answered, “SIU, Lieutenant Williams.”
“Josh, Zach Kennedy. How are you?” The familiar voice of FBI Agent Zach Kennedy came over the line.
“I just manage to put all that shit behind me and you call,” Josh chuckled, “other than that, fine. What’s up? Where you been the last month?”
“Well, I have some more to share, something you might find interesting. We have been busy here at the FBI. You gonna to be around this afternoon? I’m flying to Providence to meet with the US Attorney and bring them up to speed. If you’re free, how about we meet for a couple of drinks and I fill you in?” Kennedy asked.
“I never turn down an opportunity for the Feds to buy me a drink. Can I bring Tommy? He’s sitting here with puppy dog eyes begging for a bone.”
“Of course. What the hell, give the two troopers a call, I’ll expense the whole thing on the US Attorney,” Kennedy said. “Where and when?”
“Hmm, let me think,” Josh said. “Someplace nice, how about Andrea’s, just up the hill from the park where Donahue saved your ass? We can pretend to be Brown professors. Five o’clock work?”
“It does indeed, never knew a US Attorney that stayed in the office past happy hour. I’ll find it. See you then,” Kennedy hung up.
“Oh goody,” Tommy said, “more perks from our tour with the Feds, I love it.”
“Call Donahue and Moreira, see if they can make it,” Josh said. “I’m gonna tell Brennan. He may want to come along.”
“Brennan?” Tommy said. “If he’s there, I’ll have to behave.”
“Yes you will,” Josh replied, waving his hand motioning Tommy away. “Now make the call.”
A few moment later, Tommy said, “Good news, bad news. Donahue can make it, Moreira can’t. He’s stuck with some detail for the Colonel. He must be up for a promotion or something. Donahue said, and I quote, Moreira’s head is stuck up the Colonel’s ass, end quote.”
“Ah well,” Josh said. “I’ve good news for you, Brennan isn’t coming either. Said he wants to have a solid alibi,” smiling as Moore fist bumped him.
Josh’s phone rang again. He put his feet up on his desk, hands behind his head, and hit the speakerphone. “SIU, Lieutenant Williams.”
“Yes this is Dr. Porter’s office from Dana Farber. Is this Joshua Williams?”
Josh almost fell out of his chair reaching for the handset. He turned away from the staring Tommy Moore. “Yes, this is Josh Williams,” his voice just above a whisper.
“Yes, Mr. Williams, I spoke to your wife and we’ve scheduled an appointment for you next week, Monday at 9:00,” the caller said.
“Ah, well I am not sure—,”
The caller interrupted Josh. “That’s what your wife warned me you would say. I am just telling you about the appointment. She told me to tell you to discuss any problems with her. Have a nice day, Mr. Williams.” The call ended.
Josh hung up the phone. Avoiding looking at Tommy, he headed for the office door.
“Whoa there big fella, where do you think you’re going? We have no secrets. Don’t you remember that little talk we had when you found out about Jen and me? Everything is in the open. What’s up, you dying or something? Can I have your truck?” Tommy smiled, trying to make light of the situation.
Josh sat back down. “It’s nothing. My wife worries too much and wants me to have some tests done. That’s all,” Josh replied. “But if I do check out, you can have my truck.”
“Great,” Tommy smiled, “can you keep it washed? And don’t drive it so much until then, okay?”
Josh laughed. “Okay, deal."
They left the office, heading to the back lot.
“One more thing, Tommy.”
“What’s that, boss?” as he followed Josh out to the car.
“In the office, there are no secrets,” Josh said, stopping on the last step to look back at Tommy. “Out here, there are. Understand?”
Tommy winked. “You got it, brother.”
* * *
Two hours later, the four men, Josh, Tommy, Zach Kennedy, and Tim Donahue stood at the bar at Andrea’s on Thayer Street, near Brown University. They took over the whole back area of the bar so they could watch the door; the paranoia of police officers ingrained deep in their DNA.
“Hey LT, remember the time we came here last summer? You glued quarters up and down the sidewalk with Superglue.”
Josh chuckled.
“You guys should have been here,” Tommy said, looking at the other two. “There were rear-end collisions with people bending over to pick up the quarters and others plowing into them; some were almost sodomized. It was freaking hysterical,” Tommy laughed.
Josh took up the story. “The owner of Andrea’s came out. Saw what we were doing and threatened to cut us off if we didn’t come inside. He was not amused. Some of those quarters were there for a month.”
“Ah, I so miss the intellectually stimulating environment of working with you guys,” Kennedy chuckled. “We need to find another case to work together.”
“Speaking of cases, fill us in on the latest with the Russians, anything new in Rhode Island?” Josh asked.
“Couple of things,” Kennedy said, glimpsing around the bar. “We found some interesting banking transactions that point to a few local politicians here. One reason I came here is to coordinate with the local FBI office and the Rhode Island Attorney General on grand jury subpoenas. We’ll be ruining the day for a few state senators next Monday, with a bunch of document subpoenas and a search warrant or two for some local law firms.”
“Anybody we know?” Tommy asked.
“Let’s say there may be some openings in the leadership positions in the House and Senate.” Kennedy smiled, finishing his drink and motioning for another round.
“Anything more on the plane, or who brought it down?” Josh asked.
“Well, there it gets rather murky,” Kennedy said.
“Murky?” Tim Donahue asked.
Kennedy paused as the bartender delivered the drinks. “We think someone other than the Russians did this.”
“Who?” Donahue asked.
“Not sure, but here’s what we found,” Kennedy replied. “There were no images at the airport hangar because someone disabled the cameras. We did get video from a security firm next to the airfield. Their cameras spotted a vehicle near one of the access gates the night before the Senator’s flight. The video showed a male get out of the car and someone from inside the gate let him in. The images were low-quality and we couldn’t clear them up,” Kennedy paused for another drink.
“Didn’t the security guy go check on the car?” Tommy asked.
“We talked to the guy,” Kennedy said. “He worked the overnight shift. He said he was making a building check and didn’t see the car until he reviewed the tapes a few hours later. By then, it was gone. My guess is he was asleep.”
“You get anything else?” Josh asked.
Kennedy smiled. “Two days after we got the images, DC police found the body of the maintenance supervisor from the hangar. He had called in sick the day of the flight. 911 call reported a body floating in the Potomac. Two in the head, through and through wounds. Hands tied behind his back. No identifiable ballistics recovered.” Kennedy let the information sink in, “and there’s more.”
“More as in…?” Josh asked.
“Remember the unidentified guy in the photo when Bartoletti met with Dmitriev? The forensic guys compared the physical size of the two men in the photos. Similar, almost exact, height and build,” Kennedy said. “The guy with Bartoletti and the one at the airport, one in the same. Contract killer. We think Bartoletti decided to cancel the merger with extreme prejudice.”
“Did you interview Bartoletti?” Donahue asked.
“Tried to,” Kennedy said. “You needed a scorecard to keep all the lawyers straight. Gave us nothing. Wouldn’t even admit meeting with Dmitriev even after we showed him the pictures. Just sat and smiled, surrounded by a defensive line of lawyers answering for him.”
“So all you have is two pictures of an unidentified guy?” Donahue said.
“Yup,” Kennedy nodded, two hands on his drink, staring into the glass.
“I know who that was. The guy in both photos,” Josh said. “At least, I think I do.”
The other three turned to look at him.
“Care to share?” Tommy said.
Josh hesitated a moment, “I think it’s Bellofatto’s bodyguard.”
Donahue said, “Gino Bellofatto? The mob guy? Holy shit.”
“Yup,” Josh said. “I’m not sure, but it looks like him.”
‘Who’s this Bellofatto guy?” Kennedy asked.
“He’s the consigliere of the Patriarch crime family, or what’s left of it,” Josh explained. “He’s an old school type. When this case started, I talked to him because he was in the prison at the time Grey died. Turns out he had a lot more to do with that case than I knew,” Josh said. “And it looks like he’s had more to do with this case as well.”
Silenced Justice: A Josh Williams Novel Page 34
